Arriving in France posed one immediate problem. The cars and lorries were apt to drive right at us. The only solution I could come up with was to ride on the wrong side of the road. But at least there were less hills as we searched for a campsite.
I decided the chains and mechs on the bikes needed a good clean to remove the sand and dirt and made something of a boob.
I bought a bottle of white spirit and scrubbed them to death. That part worked. Unfortunately it seemed to remove all subcequent oil I tried to apply too, causing the gears to grind painfully.
I sheepishly ventured my predicament to some lads in a bike shop who, once they had stopped laughing, suggested, rightly or wrongly, that the only cure was to drench Hagar in oil again and again. You can imagine the mess as pints of oil spread onto panniers, clothes and somehow even onto the tent. What a plonker!
We took a day off in the non descript city of Dunkerque to acclimatise before moving on north, aided by a fresh southerly breeze, toward Belgium.
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